


Smoke x Dragons

by brocon



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Character Study, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Grandparent/Grandchild Incest, Incest, M/M, Non-Consensual Kissing, Shotgunning, Underage Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-06
Updated: 2019-10-06
Packaged: 2020-11-26 03:29:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20923433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brocon/pseuds/brocon
Summary: It was strange to have his grandfather’s gaze on him. The rest of the family watched him so much that it seemed like Zeno also watched him by extension, but he couldn’t actually recall the last time those sharp purple eyes had dissected him. Or the last time they’d spoken.He didn't like to think of his grandfather as being frail.





	Smoke x Dragons

**Author's Note:**

> This was done for day 4 of Kinkober, I'm just a little late posting. Thank you so much to @CrimsonChocolate for making this happen!

There were three studies, a library, five guest bedrooms, and a great dining hall on the east wing of the Zoldyck manor. Killua was almost certain the last place he’d read one of his favorite childhood books, called _Alligator Deathdrop_, was in the study located the farthest east. He remembered smelling a lit fireplace while reading, and only one of the three studies in the east wing had a fireplace. Fireplaces were much more common in rooms where only a single wall separated it from the freezing cold winds on Kukuroo Mountain.

He’d remembered the book while texting back and forth with Gon, talking about old childhood toys and books that were so vastly different from the other’s experiences growing up. Which was almost all of them, save for a few video games and figures from internationally popular cartoons. A pang of nostalgia hit him as he was describing the incredibly strange plot of a skateboarding alligator that had to kickflip over a massive canyon in order to escape hunters who wanted to skin him alive. As he described it to Gon, he wondered where his family obtained their children’s books.

When Gon wished him a goodnight, his time zone being several hours ahead of Killua’s, Killua decided he wanted to trip down nostalgia lane for a bit and find the old book, maybe send Gon a few photos or captions from it to prove it was real.

As his bare feet slapped down the long halls, they turned to ice blocks, and he remembered now why he used to wear slippers so often as a kid. His memory of the layout was a little fuzzy, it had been so long since he’d come to this particular study. It was so far from his room and from everything else in manor that was of regular use. Their home really was too large for their family.

Suddenly, as he turned a corner, the temperature in the hall increased by five degrees and light spilled from the study, which was apparently already occupied. And from the smell of it, they were using the fireplace. Who even came to this remote corner of the manor, where every night the stone on the floors and walls was so freezing cold it stung to touch?

He wedged the door open slowly, unsure why he would bother being cautious when this was his home and he had a right to open just about any door he pleased.

It was Zeno, reclining on a curvy and floral-patterned chaise lounge that Killua remembered he hadn’t been allowed to play on when he was younger. The room was lightly choked with smoke, the ceiling not as tall as in the newer rooms. The smell was familiar, a unique smell compared to the other fireplaces in the manor. Older. Actually, now seeing this place through more mature eyes, a lot of features looked worn and old in comparison to the center of the manor, as if no one bothered to update or repair it.

“Killua. Didn’t know you were home.”

Somehow, Killua didn’t believe that. His family kept tabs on him like crazy. When he was home, there were butlers at his door at every meal and even in between meals to offer him snacks and suffocate him into staying longer. “Didn’t know you came to this room,” Killua countered, sounding silly the minute it left his mouth.

Zeno laughed a low, raspy laugh that spilled smoke from his mouth like a waterfall. “That’s because _you_ never come here.”

“I just—came to look for a book.” It was strange to have his grandfather’s gaze on him. The rest of the family watched him so much that it seemed like Zeno also watched him by extension, but he couldn’t actually recall the last time those sharp purple eyes had dissected him. Or the last time they’d spoken.

“Well don’t let me stop you. Carry on.” His eyes turned away and he picked up his pipe again, shifting his legs on the lounge. They were nearly entirely tucked under him, his pajama pants riding up and exposing his overly-thin ankles, aged heavily and covered with scars all the way up his calves. There was almost no visible hair, follicles having worn away with age and injury. No doubt there was muscle there, but in a relaxed state his shin bone was uncomfortably visible, his bare feet knobby and frail. He’d never before thought of his grandfather as frail.

Killua felt a thousand miles away from him then, and it was the bad kind of distance that felt cold, not the kind full of adventure and freedom from tyranny. He felt like an asshole.

Stomping over to the chaise he said, “Move your feet,” and plopped down next to him. The cushion on the lounge was thin and uncomfortable compared to the furniture in Killua’s room. It reminded him of how, every time he went to Gon’s house, Abe was always in a wooden rocking chair. Why did old people intentionally choose uncomfortable furniture?

“To what do I owe the honor?” He struck a match and lit the new tobacco he’d just packed in his pipe, taking shallow draws to stoke it.

He couldn’t say ‘guilt’ or ‘you looked so old and fragile’ so he said, “I dunno. Smoking looks fun.”

He snorted at the word ‘fun’ but didn’t shoot the notion down. Instead, he let it hang there for a long time, Killua watching his cheeks cave inward as he took shallow hits, the smoke increasing. Silva definitely got his powerful jawline and cheekbones from Zeno, and there was always a bit of white scruff on their cheeks, something clearly Milluki and Illumi hadn’t gotten. Killua wondered if he would.

“Well, here you go then.” He held out the pipe, which Killua hadn’t been expecting, and his hands suddenly felt heavy as he received it. “Don’t drop it, stupid. There you go. Don’t tilt it, the tobacco might fall out. But it’s not glass either, you don’t have to cradle it like that.”

The crackle of the fireplace startled him, thinking for a moment it was coming from the pipe and that he’d broken it. Zeno would kick his ass and never let him live it down if he broke such a beautiful pipe, engraved with gold ginkgo leaves on smooth, dark cherry wood. It was at least fifteen degrees warmer in here than it was even in the center of the house. He could see now why Zeno hung out here, since he constantly complained of being cold.

“Do I just—”

“Suck on it, yeah. Inhale.”

He felt the back of his neck itch as he put it to his lips, trying to create a tight vacuum seal as though it was a straw. Closing his eyes, he imagined the bad-boy characters on TV who smoked cigarettes and always crushed them with their bare hands before they’d even finished smoking them. He inhaled sharply, a nasty taste filling the back of his throat like he’d licked the bottom of a fireplace, a sharp burning on his tongue that made his eyes well up. Pulling it away from his mouth, holding it at arm’s length as if fearing it would jump back into his mouth spitefully, he couldn’t help coughing.

It was plucked from his fingers. “You’re going to drop it.” Killua looked up, searching for the disappointment in his face that came when he failed an endurance test, but he didn’t see it. He knuckled away the tears threatening to fall from his eyes. “It’s not a cigarette. It’ll bite’cha if you do it that fast. Not everything is a race.”

Starting to cough was like a snowball rolling down a hill, getting bigger. He just couldn’t stop, his lungs protesting with small sputters that kept him from responding. Zeno seemed to feel a bit bad, brushing Killua’s overgrown bangs from his eyebrows with the back of his icy fingers. Sweat gathered on the back of his neck and he blamed the fireplace burning behind them.

Zeno turned and grabbed a short glass tumbler of brown alcohol, large circular ice cube jumping as he took a decent-sized sip and clanked it back down. There was a warm tint to his cheeks; Killua wondered if he could even get drunk.

“Let me try again,” he choked out.

But this time, Zeno ignored him, taking a long, slow drag of his pipe. The smoke eventually escaped out of his nose and, after a few reserved hand motions, the two trails took the shape of dragons before they flew up into the pile of smoke on the ceiling.

“Let me try again. Teach me to do that!” His smoky brain imagined him doing that trick in front of Gon, blowing twisting dragons out of smoke and watching Gon’s mouth drop open in amazement.

“Killua.” Zeno didn’t even look at him, purple eyes locked on the ceiling as if he could still see the smoke dragons moving through the other wafts of smoke. “Do you know why I come here?”

Taken aback, he blinked. His eyelashes still felt wet, the smoke in the air was suffocating his senses. “Because it’s warm?”

“The so-called east wing existed before the rest of the estate. Before we expanded. I used to read in this room as a boy, play with the fire in the fireplace, and make it smoke so I could turn it into dragons.”

Vulnerability. Suddenly Killua’s arms and legs felt uncomfortably warm as if sitting in a hot spring. He’d seen what his grandfather looked like as a boy in black and white photos in dusty albums. He’d looked a lot like Killua, but with Kalluto’s eyes, more pronounced cheekbones, and some weird shorts-with-suspenders outfit. He always looked so distant and unhappy in the photos, but maybe that’s just how photos were back then.

Zeno’s left hand fell on his forearm, giving it a tight squeeze with calloused fingers, but he still didn’t look at him. “This study is where Silva was conceived. I held your grandma on this chaise and made another goddamn human being, who would then go on to make five more. Who knows how many more you little shits will make.”

“Gross! I don’t wanna talk about you and Grandma making my dad.” He snaked his arm past Zeno, reaching for the pipe, not yet having given up dreams of impressing Gon with smoke dragons.

But Zeno caught his hand easily, holding it in a vice grip that started to hurt almost immediately. He took another deep, showy inhale that Killua could never take even if he practiced smoking for five years. Trying to wrench his hand away, he failed to budge it, Zeno far too strong even with a pipe taking up one hand. He remembered now why his book was here in the first place. Zeno used to lead him here by the hand, let him play or read on the floor when he needed to escape the prying eyes and expectations of his family. It was always just the two of them in this room, listening to the fireplace and reading together with a few snacks.

It only took an instant for there to be a cold hand on Killua’s smooth chin, pushing him until his head was against the back of the chaise. His mouth was pried open in a second, sharp purple eyes dissecting him as they moved in to devour him whole. Mouths clasped together, Killua could feel the transference of smoke in his mouth, warm but not burning, Zeno’s moustache roughly brushing the tip of his nose. Killua’s first instinct was to push him away, but even as his palm pressed hard against Zeno’s cheekbone, feeling the soft skin that had loosened with age, Zeno was immovable. He didn’t blink or flinch. Killua didn’t know if he should inhale, but he thought of smoke dragons and tried to transfer it up and into his nose.

When his lips—which he noticed were the only part of his grandfather that wasn’t cold—left his, he clamped his mouth shut to hold it all in. Waiting with wide blue eyes for some explanation or guidance. A small nod from Zeno was the only signal he needed, and he released the smoke from his nose, watching it blow out into much messier trails than Zeno had produced.

Zeno, just inches from his face, began making the same gentle hand motions he had for himself, turning Killua’s smoke into a few small dragons. Killua watched them closely as they flew up to join their brethren at the ceiling. As proud as he wanted to feel, his eyes were watering and itchy, nose still feeling the phantom scratches of rough facial hair. Lips feeling an absence he didn’t want them to feel from his grandfather.

It was meant to be a probing, hard look that he shot at Zeno, but it looked pleading instead, the heat causing sweat to gather on his upturned eyebrows.

Zeno’s voice was raw and low, showing his age worse than his ankles had. “If you can make smoke into a dragon, you can keep it longer. Something as vulnerable as smoke, you have to do something if you don’t want it to vanish.” Pressing his cool thumb to Killua’s soft, young cheek, he scratched a gentle line down with his thumbnail. Killua didn’t understand a word he was saying, but the swift and sudden affection, hot and smothering from someone who hadn’t spoken to him in so long, made him press his knees together.

The seat beneath him was wet from Killua’s thighs sweating. This was where he’d had sex with his wife, where Killua hadn’t been allowed to sit as a boy. Where he was allowed to sit now.

Killua stood, heart beating in his cheeks; the gross taste of tobacco stuck in his sinuses was making his head hurt. “I’m going to get the book and go to bed.”

Zeno leaned back, taking a final gulp to finish off his drink, and Killua practically dashed behind the chaise, out of his sight, and knelt down to the bookshelf. The fireplace was even closer, breaking his skin out in sweat much faster than it should have.

Heart slamming in his head now, he rested his forehead on the edge of the shelf and slipped his eyes closed, trying and failing to steady himself. He slipped a shaking hand beneath his shorts, tugging and trying in vain to gulp down the taste of tobacco that refused to dissipate. The hissing and shuddering of his breath was swallowed up by the fireplace crackling, bare feet threatening to slip out from under him as he balanced on the balls of his feet.

This was stupid. There was little chance a man as sharp as Zeno Zoldyck couldn’t sense what was going on only a few feet away from him. But it didn’t stop Killua from coming hard in his shorts, nearly falling to his knees as the pleasure hit him in one big wave, gold gingko leaves flashing behind his eyelids as he dug his forehead into the edge of the shelf. Unable to restrain himself, he whimpered, an animal of prey afraid of being discovered crouching in a dusty corner.

Standing on shaky legs, he shoved his filthy right hand into his pocket, plucked a book at random with his left hand, and quickly shuffled out of the room. He heard “Goodnight, Killua,” as he shut the door behind him.

The temperature was at least ten degrees lower in the hallway, getting colder and colder as he headed back. Only now did he notice the sweat that had accumulated on the hem of his shirt and under his armpits, because it clung cold and wet to him. He’d randomly grabbed an old book of poetry from the shelf, which he dropped to the floor of his bedroom, letting it land on its old spine. When he threw himself on his bed, feet frozen again, he could still see dancing smoke dragons crawling the walls.

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave me a comment!! Gimme a heart, a quote you liked, your opinion - anything and everything is appreciated. I love you all!!
> 
> Thank you for all of your love and support, you can find out more about me and ways to support my writing on https://twitter.com/shiroppan
> 
> Love,  
Brocon ❤️❤️


End file.
